


The World is Built on That

by lockawinest



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Deep Dish Nine, First Date, Fluff, I'll flesh this out as I realize what I'm supposed to be doing., M/M, Plenty of other things probably, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockawinest/pseuds/lockawinest
Summary: On a street in former Cardassia Heights is a building housing apartments, and on the bottom floor shops. One of these shops is a pizza parlor called Deep Dish 9. This narrative is a chronicle of some of the happenings on that street, mostly centering around a new medical student to move in, and a tailor who has been there since before the Bajoran diaspora moved in. With marginal planning, and probably a whole heck of a lot of chapters planned this story will unfurl to tell some sort of stories about affection, romance, irresponsibility, smuggling, ducks, and plenty more.(Formerly place-named The Talking Pizza Parlor, and another entry into the many many amazing fics set in the Deep Dish 9 AU.)I'm still planning for more of this fic, but have been dealing with a number of medical issues for the last half year. Due to the nature of this fic, I'm taking some time to recover and have some time not worrying about medical nonsense.





	1. Chapter 1

Had someone told Julian that there was maximum capacity for gossip, he would have probably pointed them towards Deep Dish 9 and advised them that it was a false capacity, and their calculations had been foiled by a handful of pizza workers in garish red shirts. Everyone at Deep Dish talked, some more than others, some opted to be more cryptic, and yet others spoke quite plainly. But rumors found a multitudinous number of mills to spin in the pizza shop, and this somehow didn’t stop around him. He was still relatively new, and still learning everyone, but even when he first started working he felt that he had been immediately subsumed into the world of Deep Dish 9. No awkward pauses when he entered, or changes in topics. It felt right, like the universe had decided to place him there.

“She’s been driving herself batty trying to stay at home all of these days,” explained Ezri, leaning against the dimming pizza kiln. She was waiting for the ashes to cool enough to sweep without burning herself. Julian had his hands on a mop, absentmindedly spinning it in little circles as he cleaned behind the counter.

Jadzia, who from the looks of it had been washing the same plate for roughly three minutes replied, “That’s why she’s been starting to substitute? Sounds like she misses being closer to the city center.” Jadzia dipped the plate back into the dishwater and gave all who could see a defeated look, as she had clearly meant to just put the plate away after drying. Julian couldn’t fault her, it had been a miserably quiet day all in all. One tended to lose one’s mind when wholly unoccupied for hours at a time. “She used to work in the Arboretum, right?”

“The commute was probably a nightmare.”

Keiko had moved for Miles, the complex landlord and her husband. The complex housed apartments above — including Julian’s — and street-side stores, including Deep Dish 9, the obligatory neighborhood Repli-Cafe, a bar called Quark’s, an empty space, and a tailor’s shop called Garak’s Clothiers. He liked Miles, who always seemed to be busy fixing some electrical problem or another. Miles... did not seem to like him as much. He had developed a specific sour face for when he saw Julian, but generally remained cordial. Julian was determined to at some point change that, when he had time, time being a scarcity of late.

The Dax sisters moved on to other topics as he stayed mesmerized on his slow mopping.

They cycled through news of Odo’s obsessive surveillance, Kira’s unfortunate and persistent visitor to the store, and Quark and his shady dealings.

“He got a new shipment of something in. I couldn’t convince Rom to tell me anything about it.” Jadzia had a way about her, some sort of effervescence, an excitement that made people madly trust her. And for many people that was also an attraction. In her conversations with Ezri when they closed in the evenings or even with Kira during the day, the latest in her strings of romances would occasionally crop up. Julian had been hooked readily and already been turned down in various attempts.

“Did I tell you I saw him and Garak slipping notes the other night,” said Ezri, stopping her brushing out of the kiln in excitement.

‘When?”

“The night I came with you to Tongo. Spent most of it chatting with this really nice Dabo girl. Garak came in, Quark called a break. Can’t remember where you went, but they made some show of Garak ordering Kanar. I don’t know what was written on the receipt, but it sure wasn’t his signature or a tip for Quark. I don’t think he realized that I was paying any attention.”

“Garak?” Julian woke up a tiny bit from his mopping circles having heard intrigue calling his name.

“Ezri, you have got to be stretching it.” Jadzia turned towards Julian and added, “ He runs the clothiers, name’s on the shop. Doesn’t come in, doesn’t eat pizza. Keeps to himself more than a normal person does.”

Ezri wasn’t about to back down. “I saw what I saw Jadz, and I know even you’ve heard he used to be a spy. He must have all sorts of connections. Connections he can share with snakes like Quark.”

“Quark did seem far more willing to risk after that break,” Jadzia conceded, grinning.

Ezri and Jadzia continued their gossiping, now venturing into exactly how much Jadzia had managed to win off of Quark that night, while Julian endeavored to finish his mopping instead of polishing the same five tiles to the left of the cash register trying not to wonder what strange and interesting deal the tailor and bartender had made.

\---

Julian found himself taking more detours after that. Occasionally past Garak’s, sometimes past the Repli-Cafe, trying to get the lay of the land in his new neighborhood. It was normal to look into shop windows. He was, however, thankful that Garak’s didn’t have more than the small window on the door: the larger windows just looked into window boxes with mannequins and a dark blue background. The mannequins always looked like they were dressed to kill. Or perhaps dressed to be arrested in a high profile murder investigation. He’d dressed like that once or twice, both formal occasions. He’d felt armored and ready to take on the cold harsh world both times. But he was not affluent enough to be able to afford that kind of dress, let alone a new pair of jeans. What would he do looking so sharp anyway, go to a puzzle room, imagine himself a secret agent? He’d figure out how to escape, and then save the damsel in distress, his accomplishments the toast of the organization.

Having realized that he had concluded the habitual detours of the past few days with full-on standing outside of Garak’s staring at a mannequin daydreaming, he decided that the detours ought to be concluded _concluded_. He’d stood there long enough that someone must have seen him, and tongues would begin wagging. He was going to end up the subject of conversation between Ezri and Jadzia. Everyone would know at that point. And what outrageous conclusions would they draw? He could almost see Sisko chuckling to himself, with Kira sitting in her office staring daggers now ever vigilant for a moment of weakness when she could swoop in and remind him he should know better. Miles would probably hear too, which if telephoned to him may not end well. Yet another mark against him. Could Mile’s face get even more sour?

He didn’t have to worry himself that much. Sure enough, it was already being talked about.

“Do you have a few screws loose? What do you seriously want with that creep?” Kira made sure to inform him that she didn’t need an answer, “Prophets know it’s not my job to stop you from making stupid decisions.”

Her face let him know she would milk an, ‘I told you,’ for all it was worth, and that he wouldn’t want that day to come. The look was brief, but as she turned to return to the kitchen, Julian felt a shiver run across his shoulders. Kira was a formidable force, and he was distinctly aware now that she could decimate him without breaking a sweat.

When halfway through his shift a well-dressed gentleman passed by the store on his way elsewhere, Jadzia interrupted his contemplative table cleaning and people watching. “He’s probably heading to the Repli-Cafe a few doors down. Takes his lunch there occasionally. Drinks red leaf tea.”

“Wait, that was him?”

“Yeah.” Jadzia was matter of fact about it, but he could feel her grinning like a Cheshire cat behind him. “Doesn’t look like a spy at all does he?’

He had looked, well, dignified. But beyond the well-made clothing, leather bag, carefully styled hair, he read as small; almost as if making himself smaller, less noticeable. Had Jadzia not pointed him out Julian would have missed him entirely. And something about him, to Julian screamed to be analyzed, a mystery to be revealed. Julian was always a sucker for mysteries.

“I... don’t know,” he said slowly, his mind already rapidly building plans.

\---

Lectures at this early stage required extra effort from Julian, who had voraciously devoured medical texts as soon as he had decided that becoming a doctor was his goal. Anatomy was at its core a memorization game, which he’d already mastered. Genetics seemed to drift past without a note. And yet he had to look attentive, or at least awake. He grabbed a breakfast of raspberry jam cookies from the vending machine while walking from one class to another. Hopefully by mid semester they would be doing some hands-on education, something he couldn’t quite introduce to his previous study. He rushed home once the final lecture let out, changed into his work uniform, throwing his t-shirt, jacket, and jeans haphazardly on the couch to be attended to later, and dashed out in his grease-stained black trousers and signature red shirt.

Today he bused, occasionally assisting customers, though he still didn’t have a solid command of the menu. He was woken from a fugue state with a slap from a plastic spatula dangerously close to his hand, which in turn was dangerously close to cleaning the varnish off the table he was wiping down.

He jumped back a bit. “Kira?”

“Your hands are shaking, and you’ve been spacing for a solid five minutes. Go to lunch. Come back awake.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kira responded with a glare. Her grip tightened on the spatula. Was she contemplating killing him with the spatula? But she turned to head back to her office.

“Don’t destroy my tables cleaning them.”

He waved to Ezri and Jadzia. In the back, tending to the kiln, Sisko gave him a bizarrely knowing smile. With the distinct impression that Kira’s eyes were boring into him through two layers of drywall and insulation he escaped out the door.

He had next to nothing in his wallet. He was surviving, but just on scholarships and pocket money he made from Deep Dish 9. He was hardly afloat, and maybe if he knew how to shop for food he’d stop buying the same five vegetables that just rotted in his fridge, family sized lasagnas, and bread he always forgot about because he’d never remembered to buy toppings. His fridge sure looked full, but he couldn’t make a meal out of it if he tried, other than perpetual lasagnas. But he had a ten-dollar bill... left over for the week. In the scope of his plan, however, that ten-dollar bill would a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. A sacrificial lamb that bought him a small peanut butter and apricot jelly sandwich and a small Tarkalean tea at the Repli-Cafe. And he had just enough left over.

He sat himself in the seat on the far wall facing the door. Outside people chatted in the open air; someone was fighting with their laptop, someone else a mop of hair drowning in stacks of textbooks. It was a good vantage point and he could hear when people came in from the bell on the door. And yet, his sandwich directed his attention away from it all. Kira had been right; he was shaking and needed to eat. It was tolerable, however, the sandwich was found wanting. The bread was a touch too dry and scratched the roof of his mouth, which the peanut butter proceeded to weld itself to. The apricot jelly was the only saving grace. As he fumbled with his first bite, desperately trying to detach the peanut butter from his palate with his tongue, the other chair at the table scraped.

“Is this seat taken?”

Julian didn’t manage more in the affirmative than a muffled gurble as he continued fighting with his food. He conceded his fight, nodding in the affirmative. Looking up, he found the face of a man in early middle age, and the same black carefully styled hair and pale skin of the man who had walked by the window the day before. He had these icy blue eyes that looked like they could slice someone apart with a glance, and they were trained on him.

“You’re Bashir, aren’t you? Welcome to the building.” Julian nodded, finishing his bite at last. Garak sat down in the chair.

“Thank you, and call me Julian.”

“I’m Garak.”

“The tailor?”

“You’ve heard of me then?”

“Your name is on your shop.”

“Ah, so that _was_ you standing around outside. You’re welcome to come in anytime, my dear.”

“I... suppose I’ll have to find time now.” Did he forget cameras? He hadn’t seen cameras, so how had he been seen? He took a moment to stare an S.O.S into his tea. Which, realistically, was tea and did nothing to help.

“And why not, I’m always happy to see a friend, Doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor yet, Mr. Garak.”

“Garak, just plain and simple.”

Julian went to take another bite of his sandwich; he needed to eat it after all, and drank down some tea with it to help alleviate the adhesion factor. As he put his cup down, he looked at Garak’s empty hands. Garak hadn’t brought anything. He’d clearly come here for another purpose. And he, Julian, was suddenly more prepared.

“Let me go and get you a tea.”

Julian hopped up and went to order a Red Leaf tea before Garak could say anything other than thank you. He brought it back steaming after the barista had finished it.

“What a thoughtful young man,” Garak said as he took the tea out of Julian’s hands, placing it on the table to cool. His eyebrow rose, but if he was actually phased by this maneuver it wasn’t legible on his face.

“You came and sat down before getting anything,” Julian pointed out, “One might think you had an ulterior motive.”

“And what might that be?”

“I can’t pretend to know sir.”

“Ah, an open mind, a clear sign of intellect.”

They continued talking, cycling through topics, having an altogether pleasant conversation. Julian continued his battle with his sandwich, and his occasional attempts to have his teacup gain sentience and drown him when he said something wrong, but an altogether pleasant conversation. Somehow Garak managed to convince him to meet again next week, and mid-sentence in agreement Julian remembered that he was only here on lunch, and not exactly at liberty to have an altogether lengthy pleasant conversation.

Instead, he let Garak know “ Next week, same time,” and bolted, slamming himself against the door to swing it open and continue his stampede towards Deep Dish 9. Behind him, Garak finished his tea, and chuckled to himself.

\---

At closing, when Kira was far away enough that she’d be staring through at least six layers of drywall and insulation, Julian disclosed his lunch to Jadzia and Ezri, both again chattering around in the back. Without much left to do Julian was feigning browsing through a medical textbook he had left in his bag.

“He’s definitely a spy.”

Jadzia immediately spun over to her sister. “Okay, Ezri, pay up.”

“No way, I’m like 90% sure he is,” Ezri defended.

“I just said that he has to be a spy,” defended Julian, albeit somewhat confused as to what bet it was that Ezri had lost.

“Julian, you spend half your time inundated in spy media. If you think he’s a spy, he’s got to either be the worst that’s existed, or he’s intentionally playing with you.”

That stung, but Julian found himself steady in his resolve. Garak must have known that he suspected something, and normal people didn’t play mental games with random students in cafes. “I’m offended that you think so little of my observational skills, Jadzia,” He retorted, closing his textbook with a snap.


	2. Chapter 2

It was autumn, and winter was beginning to creep into the air; a little too early for anyone to be anything other than miffed. Julian had begun taking out his warmer hoodies and longer sleeve shirts. Even with all the effort his wardrobe didn’t seem to change one iota, and his longer sleeve shirts languished in the corner where he had placed the unseemly pile after pulling them out from the storage box he kept under the bed. Now they were horridly wrinkled, and he had already woken up twice drowsy in the middle of the night to be frightened by the horrifying sludge monster shadow that they appeared as in the near dark. Regardless, he continued to wear his usual slew of t-shirts and tanks under his hoodies and light weather jackets. 

Garak had offered to make him a coat, they had been meeting for lunch every few days for the past month and a half. Julian had stammered, flattered, but also mentally calculated the cost of materials, time, and effort that would go into something that he might never remember to wear. He had politely turned him down and lied about his frankly threadbare hoodie keeping him plenty warm during the winter. Garak had insisted the offer would remain on the table, and navigated the conversation towards the idiocy of Julius Caesar’s pride as a man in the position of power in one of the powerful and turbulent nations in Earth’s history. 

Being cold with a hoodie on was one thing, but being cold while stark naked, expecting a warm and comfortable shower, and instead receiving a barrage of freezing icy shards of water was another. Betrayed by his shower was not how he was expecting to start the morning, but it was a Saturday, and so he could at least sit pitifully by the radiator trying to absorb what warmth he could into his skin without searing a radiator patterned brand into his side. His sink water didn’t heat up either, so more than likely something was wrong with his hot water heater. Unable satiate his need for warmth by grilling himself he was moved to put on one of his forlorn long sleeve shirts, and a thicker hoodies.

He wandered out of his apartment clothed, but with his hair still dripping, and his feet just wrapped in socks. On the door to O’Brien’s office was a poorly formatted sign, taped carefully to the window, ‘Not here, at home. If you desperately need me, Apt. 103.’ He about faced and began his miserable journey down a few doors to Apt. 103. 

The response to his knocking was quick with Mrs. O’Brien’s voice calling out to him that she was coming. Her face fell when she saw his soggy frankly miserable form. “Julian! You look awful. Come inside, it’s warmer.”

“Thank you Mrs. O’Brien,” he said, stepping into a well-maintained dining area, “I think my hot water heater’s broken.”

“Call me Keiko, please. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright, thank you... Keiko.”

“Sit, I’ll go get Miles.”

Julian sat down in the kitchen as Keiko walked back into the living room.

“Miles, Julian is here, his hot water is down.” 

“Oh, I better get on that. Molly, I’ve got to go fix something. Keep drawing, I’ll be back in no time.”

Keiko returned, Miles following her, shifting his legs like he had just gotten up from the floor. 

“Let me go and get my repair box from the office. I’ll be right up.”

Julian headed back to his apartment, regretting the fact that he didn’t own a pair of shoes he could just slip on. He had a few minutes to hide as much of his substantial mess as he could. Dishes went into the sink with a brief rinse, and a giant pile of clothing was tossed into the abyss of his closet to be dealt with at another time. A knock on the door indicated that Miles had made it up. Julian let him in.

“Alright, so no hot water?”

“No hot water from the sinks, and none from the shower.”

“I’ll check to make sure the valves didn’t get turned by something, or stuck, and then I’ll check the hot water heater. You can do whatever.”

“Uh,” Julian wasn’t particularly comfortable with the idea of trying to study, or read, or even just stand around awkwardly in the living room wishing that there wasn’t another person in his living space that he was just ignoring. He wasn’t certain if it was his incessant need to keep people company, or just the inescapable awkwardness of someone being in his home telling him to ‘act natural.’ He found himself clinging to his hoodie and cheerfully stating, “That’s alright, I’ll keep you company.”

There was the face that Miles made, but he could tell that he was trying his best to wipe it off his face.

Miles headed into the kitchen to the sink where the tiny pile of plates had been rinsed, but honestly needed further washing sat, taunting Julian for his elongated neglect. The next hour or so was just as agonizing. Julian almost gave up and went to study a few times, but out of a host-like obligation just watched as Miles checked one valve and another, moved into the bathroom and checked one valve and another, and the finally made his way to the small closet that housed the hot water heater and made the repair necessary for it to start working again. One of the elements had burned out. Julian assumed that it happened often enough in the older heaters of a complex such as theirs. Miles said nothing about it. He had had the foresight however to bring a replacement element with him, which gave Julian’s assumption license.

“There,” Miles said, after checking the running water in the sink. “It should heat up fine now.”

Julian followed him to the door. “Goodbye Mr. O’Brien. Thanks for fixing that.”

“Just let me know if you need anything else,” was all that Miles said as he made his way back down the stairwell.

\---

“He would not talk to me!”

“Julian, are you aware how awkward standing over someone while they’re checking valves under the sink in your bathroom is?”

“That’s not the point Jadzia. I was there and it would have been more awkward to just leave him there. But people talk through awkwardness. It’s a fact of human life. How can someone not open their mouth to utter something, anything in an attempt to connect to a human being in avoidance of haunting silence?”

“The amount of drama that comes out of your mouth when you open it is telling of why.”

They were in the park, sitting on a bench and throwing seeds at ducks. Jadzia had insisted on it after she had turned down Julian yet again.

“It works better with me as your friend,” she had said, and then handed him a bag of seeds.

“It?” he had asked.

“Yes, it. Now, we’re going to go to the park and watch ducks wander around on their plastic looking feet while throwing things at them.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Julian, you need to get out of your head. Five minutes just existing on a park bench doing something meaningless. You spend every second doing something with purpose, and reason. You’re going to make your head explode. You’re going to make my head explode.”

“I do plenty of fun things.”

“Mind puzzles are not relaxing, video games are not relaxing, sparring with a tailor about novels is not relaxing. Watching ducks behave like idiots is mind-numbingly relaxing and we’re going to go do that.”

Julian found that he had mixed feelings about this analysis of his behavior. On one hand he felt an irrepressible drive to keep moving, proving himself, doing something, and on the other Jadzia’s words rang true. He had no earthly idea how to relax for one moment. Truly relax, not procrastinate or entertain himself, but turn off his processes and just watch plastic footed ducks attack seeds on the grass near the pond in the park. 

After being forced to sit on a park bench and stare at plastic footed ducks attacking seeds on the grass near the pond in the park he realized that although it may come as the easiest most natural thing to Jadzia, he still couldn’t turn off and just be. 

In the back of his mind he was building the next argument he would levy at Garak over the excruciatingly irritating repetitiveness of The Never Ending Sacrifice, and debating what he could make Garak read as punishment for subjecting him to seven generations of undying selfless devotion to the state. Maybe The Cherry Orchard, or A Clockwork Orange? Garak would probably find something in A Clockwork Orange to argue for. The destruction of a radical in order for him to function in society sounded far too much like the beginning to which The Never Ending Sacrifice was the ending. The Cherry Orchard would give more fodder for Julian to argue, but it was inevitable that Garak would find the destruction of an elite class by a wave of modernity less a lesson about time moving forward and replacing a mired people, and more a lesson about how familial self indulgence would inevitably fall to the power of the state. The dynamics of that kind of literature were fascinating and so easy to turn on their heads. One could argue both for the turning tide of modernity, and also for the strengthening of populist ideology that in turn strengthened state structure and societal entanglement in cultural responsibility.

A duck quacked. It quacked right next to him, startling him out of his stupor and stared at his insistently. It was a smart duck and realized that he, unlike Jadzia who had managed to empty her bag of seed, continued to have food in the wrinkled paper bag that he held in his hand. He fed the duck some seeds, which it dutifully ate up, and then again quacked at him.

“You are awful at this. What were you thinking of this time?”

“The underlying complexity of turn of the century literary themes dealing with changing political landscapes in the modern era.”

“That is not watching ducks waddle around.”

“No. I was also thinking about how this duck in particular seems more capable of holding a conversation than my landlord.”

Jadzia groaned, realizing that she was not going to escape any time soon, “And why does it bother that Miles isn’t holding a conversation with you? He’s just your landlord.”

“He seems nice.”

“Julian, I’m sure you’ve heard this too many times to count, but you do not have to be friends with everyone.”

“But, he just... seems like he’d be a good friend.”

Jadzia listened as Julian explained the ordeal of the previous day; his upsetting shower and the solid hour and a half of silence he had had to endure as Miles attempted to correct the faulty water heater. His complaining and talking seemed to do him good, or so it seemed to Jadzia. For Julian’s part he began to see what she had meant by ‘it’. He needed someone to talk to without pretense, a friend. He realized that up until now, that was not something he had truly had. Which worried him, and spurred him to argue against Miles’ slight with more vigor.

The ducks had their fill of seeds that afternoon, particularly the smart one that had trained Julian to throw it seeds when it quacked. They would sleep well, floating about on their little pond. Julian would return to his apartment feeling a little less burdened, and would continue his search for the perfect book to throw at Garak. Jadzia would return home satisfied that she assisted Julian with his problems, and perhaps a bit amused in learning where else he was currently fixated. All in all the ducks had it best.

\---

“That was an odd choice,” said Garak as he handed over the well-thumbed copy of As I Lay Dying. “I can’t say that I expected it, after the things you’ve had me read in the past.”

The book was messy, plagued with narrative inconsistencies and confusion. But what was more telling was the quiet time that had gone into the novel, the aged pages, broken spine, and glue that peeked from between the pages. Perhaps he was reading far too into it, but something in this latest reading assignment seemed personal, and read as an unspoken test. He had smiled to himself thinking of that conclusion. In some ways Julian was the one who had decided to change the game, whether he was aware of it or not.

“I thought that a new direction would be interesting.” replied Julian who was looking down at his tea, not an ounce of shakiness in his voice which sounded almost sterile. There was an unsteadiness to how Julian showed his emotion, a tumultuousness of needing to be seen, and hidden at the same time. He was a wonder to try and read. 

“I think... that is was very human,” said Garak with a grin, hunching over to begin his analysis of the novel.

It had been like this at all of their lunch dates. Both excitedly discussing, their body language like that of tennis players, feet placed squarely on the floor, hinged at the hip, ready to dive for the first serve. But this debate felt less like a bout, and more like a dance. Words were chosen more carefully by both parties, attitudes remained more mellow, and bodies relaxed into chairs as the conversation glazed past certain parts of the book that both parties separately tip-toed around, made mention of and then retreated from carefully, not in a study of the subject matter, but of each other.

“Human? How so?”

“With the chapters as they are we don’t learn the immediate narrative, but are left to piece it together through broken view points. Not one character gives a voice that is uncolored by some form of personality that muddles the purity of their interpretation, and yet their narratives as a whole provide us not just the ugliness that is the story, but also the underlying currently of love, selfishness, and familial connections that creates the darkness at the heart of the plot.”

“The darkness at the heart of the plot? Garak, that’s very vague of you.”

“I posit that the novel is about the effect of parental selfishness on a family.”

‘You mean Anse?”

“I more mean Addie herself, although Anse is certainly part of the problem.”

“That’s an interesting take on it, since she dies about sixty pages into the book.”

Garak proceeded to explain to Julian, who listened intently, his hypothesis on the nature of the characters: how Addie had acted selfishly in her expectation of her family before she died and in her death, from her request to have Cash build the coffin in her sight, her insistence on being buried so far away, and her mentality that her son Jewel was some form of salvation for herself. The topic turned to the fates of the children, and the sacrifices that were made on their parts. The last half of Julian’s tea had gone cold, and Garak’s was untouched.

“It makes sense then that Cash received the heaviest burden of all of the children. Not as an inheritor of Darl as the chapter structure suggests, but of Anse’s.” explained Julian, who in the latter half of the conversation had started peppering his own ideas in.

“How so?”

“Well, although Cash becomes the new guiding narrator after Darl is taken to Jackson, what he truly inherits is the burden of his family, illustrated when he becomes the one to essentially sends Darl to Jackson. Anse purchasing a new set of teeth and remarrying only indicates his moving on, where Cash is held back now in the place of his father. He is unable to work, and burdened with a family. However, unlike his father, it is not because of some imagined illness that he were to get if he sweated, but because of a very real and future destroying injury he sustained in assisting his father with his parents’ foolish endeavor.”

Garak nodded, and then drank his cup of tea. There was a quiet moment before he asked, “Julian, do you think you would want to meet elsewhere at some point?”

Julian felt the weight of those words as if he had just been dumped into a tank of water. He knew what Garak meant by those words, and if he was honest with himself, he would say that he had probably been expected those words, or was wanting to expected them. There was an underlying current to these lunch meetings to talk about books that was more magnetic than just intellectual conversations, or the original interest in someone rumored to be a former spy. It was the same reason he had caught himself occasionally, to no one but himself, calling these meetings lunch dates.

His interested for different people developed differently. Some people, like Jadzia, caught his interest quickly, insistently, and after a time, to his surprise, his interest was easy to break. He had had interest in men before for whom he found himself becoming interested in the same way as now, slowly and quietly, and sometimes almost imperceptibly to even him until it was a surprise. Like this moment when he realized that he had been quiet for too long and while his face had grown hot, he probably looked no different on the outside, the melanin in his skin hiding the blush. He probably looked only wide eyed and marginally perplexed. If the growing look of concern on Garak’s face was indication, Julian looked like he had been knocked sideways. Garak was opening his mouth to apologize, or elaborate, anything to settle the matter.

Before Garak could actually do so Julian managed to utter out a “Yes, I’d be happy with that.”

Garak bounced back admirably. “Good. Would you be willing to meet me in the store on Friday evening? We can walk from there.”

“That sounds good.”

Gathering their things, they bade each other goodbye, and left in their respective directions. Garak headed back to his shop to reopen and work on commissions and other projects, and Julian returned to his apartment to worry about the finals that were edging in before the winter holidays, and wonder what next Friday had in store.


	3. Chapter 3

“Julian!” Sisko’s voice boomed through the back of Deep Dish 9. Julian’s shift had just started. He had walked in, hung his jacket on the wall, and shoved his backpacking into the last cubby left — the lowest, which everyone had _considerately_ left open for him — and was still clambering his gangly body back up the cubby shelves. “I need you to get this pizza to table five. Now!”

“Yes’sir” Julian went from a deer in the headlights to dashing across the kitchen to grab the pie. He quickly got it to the table, took further orders, and returned to the back to take a look at what tables were his this evening.

The shift went on without too many issues, although, halfway through lunch a certain tailor stopped by the register to pick up a to-go order. Julian smiled at him while passing by with orders, but there was no stopping to chat with how busy the parlor was. Garak explained to Jadzia that he had wanted something different today to eat while staying in his shop to continue working on commissions. Jadzia stuffed two extra helpings of napkins into his bag and bit her tongue on remarking as to how messy pizza tended to be, even if he did order a calzone.

The lunch rush lessened, and as Julian finished busing his last table, his section now clean and empty of customers, Jadzia yanked him into the office, causing him to lose his balance and slam his hip directly into the metal filing tower of Kira’s desk.

“Jadzia!” he chastised, “I’d rather keep my hips until I’m maybe 70, okay?”

Jadzia opted to ignore his injury completely. “What did you do?”

“What did I do? Jadzia, you just threw me into a metal desk.”

“Quit being a baby, you’re going to be fine.”

“Jadzia!”

“What did you do?”

“What did I do what did I do?”

“He came in here. He ordered a calzone! He never comes in here, and you smiled at him!”

Julian smiled knowingly. He didn’t plan to talk about the date to anyone, let alone Jadzia. He suspected that somehow everyone would end up knowing anyway, Sisko in some miraculous way, Jadzia in her nosy way, Ezri because Jadzia told her, and Kira would probably attempt to skin him alive once learning out of some sort of righteous rage. His smile quickly faded as he saw Jadzia’s grow, she had now confirmed that something was up, and somehow he had gotten trapped in the office with her, waiting, just waiting for one of two people to interrupt them at the worst possible time. He desperately hoped that that person would not be the one who probably learned how to murder people with kitchen utensils in her wild youth navigating the mountains of Bajor.

“Maybe he just wanted pizza?” he responded weakly.

“He just wanted pizza, my ass, Julian. What did you do?”

“Why does it have to be something I’ve done, why does it have to be anything to do with me? I smiled at him because we talk, and he was here. It would be probably the cruelest thing to a friend to ignore them when they come and pick up pizza from your place of work. Now can I just go and start to clean up, we still have evening rush to contend with.”

“Oh, absolutely not. I know that smile Julian I have smiled that stupid smile at more people that you can shake a stick at.” She moved to bar his way through the door. “What did you do?”

“Jadzia, for god’s sake, can I please go back to work? This is one hell of an overreaction to Garak coming and picking up pizza.”

At just that moment, the doorknob rattled. The lock turned as someone unlocked it from the other side with their nail, and let in — Julian took a deep breath of relief — Sisko.

“Don’t mind me, I just have to grab some paperwork for the new delivery driver. Oh, and Julian, did you need Friday off?”

Julian’s face fell, and a genuine fear flashed across it, “Uhh... no, I mean, I guess I could use that night off it it’s possible. How did you know?” He tried to regain his composure, but the pain in his hip and the terrifying omniscience of Sisko made it difficult. What else did Sisko know and how, _how_ , would he use that information?

“Friday night off? I could work it if you need it off Julian,” said Jadzia, grinning from ear to ear. She may not know for certain, but she was edging nearer and nearer to the truth. She could smell it like a bloodhound. “What’s going on on Friday night, Julian?”

Julian was feeling the furious beating of anxiety in his heart. He was trapped in an office with Jadzia blocking the exit, and Sisko probably taking some sort of absurd joy in embarrassing him. The door was open, and any moment Kira or Ezri would hear. He had to do something, had to say something that would rescue him.

“I... I just — have a big exam on Monday. That’s all,” he said lamely.

“I think I’ve seen you study twice since you’ve started here. Like really study, and not just flip around the textbook looking at pictures on your break,” remarked Jadzia.

“Okay, Jadzia leave him be. Now I need to leave the office so that I can get Worf to finish filling out this paperwork. Is that alright with you?”

Jadzia huffed and stood down. Julian managed to slink out and start preparing for the dinner rush, and soon enough the front reverted to its busy state, with Julian, Jadzia, and Ezri running back and forth serving tables, and Sisko and Kira cooking in the back.

That night, as he was gathering his things, Julian managed to catch Sisko in the office by himself. Jadzia had long since left for a date of her own, taking off as soon as her shift ended.

“So about Friday?”

“Yes, I already spoke to Jadzia, she meant it when she said she would cover. You can take it off.”

“How did you know?”

“Eyes and ears everywhere,” he said cryptically, waggling his eyebrows in a way that only fathers seemed to be able to.

“Uhh, fine. Thanks Sisko.”

“Enjoy your date with the tailor.”

In the kitchen came a clanging and distinctive shrill, “What?” that could have only belonged to Kira.

Sisko looked him squarely in the eyes, “Run. I’ll talk to her.”

Julian scrambled out of the front of Deep Dish 9, confused, concerned, and terrified for his life. And all this over a measly date that Sisko somehow knew about. This week was going to be a phenomenal train wreck if all the signs rang true.

\---

“You’re going on a date with Garak?”

“Oh, not you too, I’m already not excited to find Kira’s spatula buried deep in my left kidney.”

Quark’s was remarkably busy for a Tuesday evening. Fliers for two-dollar beers and two-dollar wings littered the entrance way and sidewalks near the bar. Julian regretted attempting to read in the swelling crowd but had also hoped that it would shield him from any nosy acquaintances of his. He had been far more hopeful than he should have been, as Jadzia had sonar that would find twenty-seven needles and a crochet hook in a haystack.

“As much as I can say that’s an amusing image, I’m not here to torture you. I’m happy for you.”

“What?”

“Well, it gets you off my back.”

“Jadzia...” Julian began before being interrupted.

“Julian, it’s fine, let me get you a drink.”

“This is an insanely bad idea.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No offense Jadzia, you thrive on bad ideas.”

Jadzia puffed up her chest in mock disapproval. “Full offense, Julian, full offense. I make amazing choices.”

Julian snorted, and Jadzia ran off for a brief second. A second, which felt like an eon to Julian. He recognized the words that he had said out loud to Jadzia. _This is an insanely bad idea._ His mind crossed and crossed over itself in the span of that second as he questioned how he really felt. He regretted saying that, but he was terrified of what would come out of one small date. He was, truly, an idiot. How could he have responded to Garak like he did? This was the man that everyone was convinced was a spy who may have just killed people, or at least seemed to be involved in shady dealings with Quark. Heaven forbid, that he, Julian, have an ounce of sense not to feel any sort of vague attraction towards someone with a thousand strings attached to them. He did not know anything about the man other than the few books he’d been given to read, and would probably find himself alone at some point with him on Friday. That is if he went. But it was absolutely rude not to, that he had said that he would, and he didn’t have much of a way to contact him and tell him he had changed his mind. If he had changed his mind. Fantastic, just fantastic.

On her return with two dark beers, Jadzia found him staring existentially at his hands, and as if reading his mind, said, “Julian, it’s just a first date.”

Julian sputtered the word “First...”

“For fuck’s sake Julian, get a hold of yourself.”

“I make bad decisions.”

Jadzia grabbed him by his shoulder. Her eyes were burning with a growing frustration. “Drink your damn beer and chill. Kira’s not going to kill you, and I’m here to talk to you, but I’m not drunk enough to talk you out of a stupid existential crisis. Okay?”

“I guess so.” Julian took a swig of his beer. He was not prepared for the bitterness and coughed as it went down. “How do you drink this?”

“With more finesse than you. If you’re gonna tell me that you only drink martinis I’m going to force that Guinness down your throat.”

“You know, I don’t know if I like drinking with you.”

“You don’t have to. Now tell me, what makes you think this is a stupid idea?”

Julian sat quietly for a moment, gathering the thoughts that had been swimming around in his head. Every little thread seemed silly to talk about as if all of the faults with his decision were laid out on the table out in the open and he was struggling to find something hidden to complain about. He opened his mouth a few times and felt like a fish. Jadzia saved him some time and asked, “Who asked?”

“He did”

“And did you say yes?”

“Of course I did.”

“Of course you did, or just, you did?”

“Of course...” Julian paused, mulling over the words, “I did.”

“You know, with all that reading you do, you’d think you’d have a better grasp of how you use the English language.”

“I resent that.”

“Continue to take offense to that, I meant it with full offense,” Jadzia grinned at him, but her interrogation was not over, “When did he ask you?”

“A few days ago at lunch. Why?”

“Have you, even in the moments when you were by yourself at home, or in the quiet, or around... “ She giggled at this, “Kira, questioned your decision?”

“No.”

“You’re the smartest idiot I know Julian, just remember that.”

Jadzia downed her beer, slammed it on the table, and hopped up again, presumably to get another one. She came back with three and set one to the side.

“Sister’s coming.”

“Does she know?”

“Probably.”

Julian sighed in defeat. “Well, the more the merrier.”

Shortly thereafter, Ezri showed up, grabbed the beer waiting for her, and started the whole mess of an interrogation over again. The night went on with Julian being tortured, the music beat reverberating behind dozens of loud conversations, and in the back of the bar, three people were having a conversation that would have probably sent Julian back to his mire of existential fear.

\---

Making it a two-dollar night had been a brilliant idea on his part. Had Rom not accidentally ordered several thousand wings that they had then needed to stuff into the deep freeze it would probably have been an even better night, but it was no matter. If the average pound of chicken wings cost roughly two dollars, and he was being stingy with the half-pound servings, then they were making back twice what had been spent. Not nearly enough, but there were chicken wings spilling from the walk-in freezer at such a size that it looked as if he could swim through them. The cost of the fliers would come directly out of Rom’s paycheck, and he’d printed enough to plaster the neighborhood and beyond. He’d sent Nog to staple them up, hand them out, and slide them under doors. The bar was as crowded as it had ever been, and he had had to relegate some of the Dabo Girls to work as servers and stop flirting with Ezri Dax.

He relaxed in his office behind the bar to the droning of dozens of conversations over the mesmeric beat of the bass and the clinking of bottles. His reverie was interrupted by a figure stalking into his office, and a quiet voice by his ear.

“Are you aware, Quark, that solicitation is not allowed in the apartments on this block? In fact, it’s not just not allowed, but illegal.”

The hairs on the back of his neck raised, and he tried to swivel his chair to look at Odo, but Odo had a firm grip on the back of the chair, holding it tightly in place. Quark laughed awkwardly, tightening his jacket against his chest, and clenching his fists. He’d been caught, but perhaps he could play the game and escape punishment. At times he almost relished his and Odo’s battles of wit. He almost never won any higher ground, but Odo often forgot why he had been visiting.

“I had no idea,” He said, his voice tinged with faux sincerity, edged with a smidgen of challenge.

“Honestly, Quark, I don’t believe you.”

“Would you believe I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Not a chance.”

Quark took this opportunity to wrest the chair out of Odo’s grasp and spin to face him. The constable wore an amused smirk.

“Odo, my friend, I am just trying to run a business here. I can’t be to blame for the mistakes my idiot nephew makes.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve had a talk with Nog. I don’t think he’s going to be helping you break any of those commerce laws again.”

“Good, I’m glad it’s been settled. How about a free drink, on the house?”

“A bribe?”

“For you, anything.”

“Quark,” warned Odo, “Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again. I’ve got enough to deal with that I don’t need neighbors complaining about solicitation fliers.”

“Don’t look now Constable, but I think someone may be itching to see you.”

Across the floor a faint and stressed, “Odo!” could be heard as Kira violently shouldered her way through an increasingly angry crowd. She was not above stepping on more than one person’s foot to get them out of her way as she charged for the office. Odo attempted to exit from the room and part the way for her, shifting the people around her with the skill of a trained crowd controller. Kira, after all, knew far better than she should of the dangers of physically assaulting people in a crowded nightclub. Odo still had photos of her unpleasant stay in the cell at the station. She responded with a grimace, and shoved him back into the office, closing the door behind them.

“I need your discreet assistance,” she stated to Odo, who smoothed out his jacket and regained his rigid stance.

“I wouldn’t say that that’s the way to ask for it,” retorted Quark, who was responded to with a ‘Shut it!’ glare from Kira, who clenched her jaw so tightly she couldn’t yell it through her teeth.

“And what do you need my assistance with, Kira?” asked Odo.

“I’m afraid that Cardassian tailor is up to something.”

“Garak? You mean with the med student? What was that kid’s name again?”

“Where did you hear about that?” snapped Kira, with a blazing glance that gave Quark the impression that he wasn’t supposed to be here, in his own office.

“Da-Dabo girl,” Quark choked out, clearly now trying to squirm his way out of the chair he was now trapped in.

“I know Garak is of questionable morals, Kira, but I don’t exactly see what threat he poses to a starving medical student?”

“I don’t trust him. I don’t think Julian has his head on his shoulders enough to see that Garak is dangerous. I’m worried about what might happen.”

“I don’t think Garak has anything untoward planned,” added Quark.

“This is not your conversation, Quark,” said Kira, turning red in the face, and pinning Quark further into his chair.

“This is my office!” replied Quark with the same ferocity, prompting Odo to come and pull them apart.

“I can try to keep an eye on them this Friday if it makes you feel better, Kira, but I agree with Quark.”

“I’m coming with you,” she replied.

“That is far from necessary, Kira.”

Just as Kira looked to start arguing this plan, Quark took the opportunity to get out of his chair and dusted off his poor abused suit. “Okay, this has been nice and all, I’ll see you both on Friday, weather permitting, and we’ll sort this out then.” He proceeded to shove both Odo and Kira out of his office, who in the midst of things were too bewildered to struggle much, and locked the door behind them.

The last thing he heard before he dropped the blind on the door down was the thumping of Odo’s fist against the glass, and, “Quark, this is not an open invitation,” from Odo, and Kira asking Odo, “How did you know the date was on Friday?” He settled back into his chair to let the atmosphere outside crash over him like a wave again, his own personal money making nirvana.

\---

Friday evening brought crisp air, the kind that makes people who have full-time jobs and mortgages wander around with their mouths straight up in the air pretending to be choo-choo trains out of a violent, nostalgic urge. Julian’s breath was visible to him as he stood outside of Garak’s shop waiting for it to close. He watched the water vapor play through the air and tried not to think about the fact that although he had thought to grab one of his thicker hoodies, the cold was starting to freeze his cheeks and chill his hands, which he kept clasped in the kangaroo pocket. He certainly tried not to be apprehensive about the plans that Garak had for them, since he had not been informed of them at all, and it was entirely possible that he was not prepared for what he had in store.

Garak’s lights started to turn off one by one until only the light in the far back above the counter remained lit. Garak came to the front of the shop to flick off the open sign, open the door for Julian, and then lock it once he was inside.

“We can exit out the back,” he said. “But I have something I want to give you first.”

Julian tried to hide the look of terror from his face as he remembered the coat offering, which clearly caused Garak to grin. “Nothing ridiculous, I promise,” said the tailor, clearly catching on to Julian’s train of thought.

He walked behind his sewing table in the back and opened up one of the drawers, pulling a pair of black leather gloves out.

“I have these gloves, so now you can stop shoving your hands in your pockets when they’re cold. I even added these inane little plastic clasps to them so they’re harder to misplace.” Garak tossed them over nonchalantly.

Julian caught them. They were well made, which was not unexpected, soft and understated, and long-fingered. They were clearly made for him, which neither of them commented on. Julian had never mastered the art of receiving gifts, and just muttered out, “Thank you.”

“Get them on, we’re going,” said Garak, wrapping himself in a coat, scarf, and gloves like he was ready to do battle with a blizzard outside. Julian slid the gloves on, following Garak out the door, and quietly marveled to himself about how warm they were. He silently promised that he would do his best not to lose them in the abyss that was his apartment.

“So,” he said trying to muster his usual cheerfulness amid the quiet panic that was growing, “Where are we off to?”

“I thought,” said Garak, while finishing locking up. “We could just walk. I know there’s a hot dog stand that stays open late a few blocks from here. We could head there for something eat, and then just enjoy the company.”

“Hot dogs?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, I just...” Julian fumbled to find the appropriate words. ”I guess I just didn’t expect you to be a street food person.”

“I may just surprise you, my dear. I’ve been a lot of people over the years.”

Julian wasn’t sure if that sounded assuring —it sounded more ominous than anything — but decided to go with it. “Very well, lead on.”

The dimming of the light caused the streetlamps to flicker on, lighting the way as they walked past the Repli-cafe and further away from the neighborhood towards the aforementioned hot dog stand. Garak talked about the area of the city, pointing out places where interesting things had occurred. Over there was a store that used to be owned by an Andorian couple until there was some sort of raid and the deli had to be shut down. And over there was where a long-standing sculpture by a Cardassian artist had stood, although the neighborhood became predominantly Bajoran and the art installation had been replaced. The sculpture that stood there now looked like pipes made of different colored bubble gum, and it made Julian somewhat nauseous. Julian listened intently, relaxing into the motion, and finding himself happy to just be listening to Garak talking.

Occasionally he too told stories, about the student in his class that consistently slept in the back but never managed to fail a test. Or the donut shop he used to visit before he moved to the area that had served octagonal donuts, but they were honestly the best he had ever had. He skirted around talking too much about his far past, and unsurprisingly Garak remained tight-lipped about his own history.

Behind them, barely visible in the glow of a streetlamp that crept into an alleyway three sets of eyes kept watch.

\---

Odo wanted to gag both Kira and Quark. Knock them out and leave them until after the wretched date was over. This was specifically how he would not have gone about this at all. He had already spent five minutes gracelessly fumbling about alleyways, hiding behind trash cans, and stomaching the bickering of his two acquaintances that he was no longer at all paying attention to Garak and Julian, but was instead babysitting the other two. His doctored report for tonight would give him stress nightmares for a week.

“See they’re not doing anything particularly interesting, Kira,” remarked Quark.

“Oh shut up, Quark. They just started walking a few minutes ago.”

“And what is Garak going to do? Drag Julian into an alleyway and murder him in some insane Cardassian patriot plot that somehow involves the murder of a young idiot medical student?”

“Quark, you didn’t have to come.”

“Oh, I did. I absolutely did. I need to have this one down in the books. I can use it later.”

Odo was developing a tension headache.

Quark was about to needle Kira again when she swatted him. “They just went into an alleyway.”

“Hurry, call the authorities, a Cardassian conspiratorial plot is underway.”

“Julian went in first,” pointed out Odo.

“We have to catch up to them,” directed Kira, already moving towards another junction to get a better view.

\---

Julian was indeed wandering into an alleyway, laughing to himself. Garak hesitated but eventually followed him.

“Julian this is ridiculous.”

“Live a little Garak, go on an adventure. Don’t you want to see what it is?”

“What? The strange shape up the hill? It’s probably just a sheet someone threw out.”

“Or a ghost.”

“Or a ghost,” Garak conceded, laughing to himself. “Didn’t anyone tell you wandering into alleyways is dangerous?”

“I, for some reason, feel remarkably safe at the moment.”

As they climbed the slope of the alleyway, laughing at each other, Garak asked, “Do you regularly do this?”

“What? Wander into alleyways on dates after mysterious shapes?”

“Maybe not in such a specific scenario, but yes.” Garak smiled to himself, knowing he had never really called this stroll a date.

“Absolutely not. I’ve seen horror films Garak. This is how the first person always dies.”

“And yet.”

“Like I said, I’m feeling remarkably safe at the moment.”

“Well if this is how one dies, I suppose we’ll die together.”

“Agreed.”

\---

“What are they doing?”

“Laughing at a bush, Kira. They are laughing at a bush.”

“Yes, thank you I can see.”

“Glad your eyes work.”

“Quark, have you ever wanted to see your own digestional tract?”

“They’re moving,” remarked Odo.

Kira, stealthily turned the corner, every muscle in her body trained in quiet movement. Quark tripped over a trashcan. Kira immediately froze, heart beating, and whipped her head towards Quark.

“I’m going to wring your neck until spinal fluid comes out.”

“Now there’s no reason to be mean,” retorted Quark.

“They didn’t see us. Julian just ran into another alleyway,” reported Odo.

Julian had led Garak into an alleyway full of graffiti and artwork, and they had stopped under a lit door that seemed to lead to an abandoned building. They were quite animatedly talking to each other, which prompted another, “What on earth are they doing?” from Kira. Garak clapped Julian’s shoulder and directed him to keep walking.

At last, they reached their final destination.

“They’re eating hot dogs,” said Quark, somewhat unimpressed by the results of their excursion.

“They’re eating hot dogs?” asked Kira. “That man doesn’t eat pizza. Why on earth is he eating a hot dog?”

“They’re eating hot dogs,” replied Odo matter of factly.

“You know, he might eat pizza. He might just not want to buy pizza from you.”

“Quark, before you open your mouth again I want you to remember that you currently have teeth.”

“Odo, I’m beginning to be frightened for my well being. I would like to report repeated threats from a Ms. Kira Neyrs.”

“Do you really?” replied Odo. “ And here I thought that this was a blackmail collection mission for you.”

“Fair point. Also, what kind of monster puts onions on hot dogs?”

“Julian.”

\---

“I would categorize tonight as odd,” began Garak.

“Not what you had planned?” asked Julian.

“I didn’t really have anything planned.”

“You were expecting to talk about something intellectual I suppose.”

“Perhaps not the possibility of a hidden Chinese poker den in an alleyway off of 7th St.”

“Or ghosts.”

“Or ghosts.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not in the least. I am in fact happy to talk about more than just books.”

“Good”

As they finished their hot dogs, and Julian threw their paper boats into the close by trash, Garak asked, “Mind if I walk you home?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“As I’m heading back that way myself, I would say that it would be logistically over complicated to deny me.”

“Then I suppose I’d have to say yes.”

On their sojourn back, in the middle of a conversation in which Garak was explaining that he often found himself eating street food outside when he was a gardener in Romulus, Julian was distracted by a small entrance to a courtyard that crossed their path. The courtyard was poorly lit with gravel covered stairs leading down to a tree and a bench. There was no other entrance to the courtyard except the wrought iron gate closed to the sidewalk. Julian tried the gate, which creaked open slowly at his touch. He sidled in and started climbing down to the little tree.

“What are you doing?” asked Garak, posted at the entrance to the courtyard, again hesitant to follow. The gravel stairway looked unstable, angled downward, and if he were to go inside he would probably have to tiptoe on the wooden boards that bordered the side of each step. He didn’t have a chance to think much further on the subject as on the third step down Julian’s shoes lost grip, and the telltale sound of gravel grinding against itself indicated a fall was imminent. Garak flew across the wooden boards and grabbed Julian by his wrist, catching him as his legs gave way underneath him, and he struggled to regain ground. Julian found himself falling one moment, and the next grasped tight against the thick wool coat that Garak was wearing. He quietly thanked the Prophets for Garak’s coat, his heartbeat unfelt through it. Garak did the same.

They stood there like that, balanced precariously on a thin board, until Julian, regaining his senses, pulled away, and hopped the boards to the bottom of the courtyard. Garak remained on the board, watching as Julian looked around to his satisfaction, and hopped back up with a grin exiting through the gate.

“Categorized as odd,” said Garak under his breath.

Garak had his key already ready in his pocket as they reapproached the apartments, again passing by the now-closed Repli-cafe. Julian patted down his pants pockets to find his key.

“Thanks, I enjoyed that.” There was a pause as he steeled himself, “Next time, the art museum?”

“Next time the museum,” agreed Garak with a smile.

Although awkward, Julian gave Garak a sincere and unexpected peck on the cheek before galloping up the stairs and into the building. He stopped at the door and called out, laughing, “See, I felt remarkably safe tonight. Goodnight, Garak.”

“Goodnight,” replied Garak, who once the door closed had to stop himself from touching his cheek.

He paused outside the apartments, taking a moment to glance up at the sky, and then as he too opened the door to go inside and retreat to his apartment called out to whoever was listening. “Not a hair on his head!” A trashcan angrily responded by clattering to the ground.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning when the cold was settling in was a time to huddle up underneath a blanket with a book, three pairs of socks on Julian’s feet and forget that clothing needed attending to at all. But in reality, no one had done his laundry in years, and if he didn’t do it today he’d have to relive last year’s week of going commando. It had not been a pleasant week in the least, and sometimes he woke in the middle of the night convinced that he had lost his pants. Apparently even without an actual trauma, the anxiety of not wearing underwear was traumatizing in itself.

He gathered up the laundry strewn haphazardly around his room. He kept telling himself that a regular laundry schedule would solve the problem of the basket being so full that things fell out, but laziness was too tempting an occupation when it came to household chores. He was the future Julian paying the price, the future Julian who now tried to balance an overfull basket and still see down the stairs. It was no use, and as he used his heels to find the back of the steps he could feel the concrete’s cold surface through the socks. By the time that he had made it down to the laundry room his feet were cold.

The door was a trick to get open, he grasped the doorknob while balancing the basket on his arm, and inched his foot in to catch it open. Once inside he gave a swift donkey kick to it, and it slammed behind him. The noise rang in his ears, causing his muscles to tense up, and his body curled in on itself.

“Not what I meant to do,” he said feebly, still feeling the reverberation of the slam.

A grunt came from behind the line of washing machines. Mr. O’Brien was stuck with an arm inside a closet trying to reach for something behind the hot water heater.

“The hot water’s out,” Mr. O’Brien stated.

“That’s alright,” replied Julian. “I wash with cold water anyway. That does run through another pipe right?”

“Yeah.”

Julian jammed as much of his laundry as he could into the washer. Due to his excellent jamming skills, that managed to be the whole basket. He threw in a detergent pod and set the laundry to wash. The machine immediately sounded strained, but he opted to not say a thing, and hope that Mr. O’Brien was busy enough with the hot water heater that he would not comment on his abuse of the community amenities.

He picked up his basket and made way for the door. It didn’t budge. He put down his basket and used both hands. The door didn’t budge. He propped his foot up against the door jam and tried to pull it open with force, and it still didn’t open.

“Uh, Mr. O’Brien?”

“Yes, Julian?” Miles seemed preoccupied with whatever he was doing in the closet.

“I think the door is stuck.”

“No kidding.”

Yes, no kidding. Because Julian absolutely wanted to be stuck in a room with Miles O’Brien so that he could again stand around watching him fix a hot water heater without a thing to say, except this time he didn’t have the option of going to do something else. This time he could stand around counting the bricks in the wall and hope that he’d learn how to self-implode and just be finished with his life. But he didn’t know what else to say, so, “Uh... yeah, no kidding.”

“Alright, relax kid, let me get out of here, and I’ll come help you.”

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for that to not happen. Mr. O’Brien started to shift. Julian heard an electrical fizz, and then a nasty crack and a ringing bang from the hot water heater. O’Brien quickly pulled his hand out from the closet and tightened it against his chest. Julian could hear the heavy breathing as he tried to keep the pain at bay. He dropped his basket and rushed over to the man’s side.

“What happened?”

“There was a live wire.”

O’Brien was starting to tear up, and his muscles were tensing up tight. He was talking through a clenched jaw so tight it looked like he would split his teeth with only a little more pressure. His wrist was clearly injured, possibly broken. Even as O’Brien was trying to hide by holding it tight against his chest and curling over it, Julian could see that his hand was set at an odd angle.

“Julian,” Miles continued trying to breathe through the pain. “My hand is going numb.”

“Do you have your phone on you?”

“It fell behind the heater. Where’s yours?”

“It doesn’t get signal down here. I didn’t bring it.”

“Just be careful of the wire.”

Julian placed his hand on O’Brien’s shoulder before going to look under the closet. He needed to get the phone. He needed to call an ambulance, or call Keiko, or something. He hadn’t fixed someone’s broken bone yet, for some reason the professors felt one needed to have a solid knowledge of the basics before starting to practice hands on. He’d read plenty on how to set a bone, what to do to splint it and prepare it for the hospital. And if necessary, he could come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t say anything at all about not having done it before. He was _clearly_ practiced and trained for this, knew all the ins and outs, all the dangers.

With his face stuck against the hot water heater, he managed to feel around without getting shocked and found the phone. Once extricated the flashlight went out and the shutdown screen glowed mockingly in his face.

“You don’t happen to have a charger do you?” Julian asked.

“No.”

“And the door won’t open?”

“Shoulda taken care of the door as soon as I knew it was swelling.” O’Brien chastised himself, “If you can’t open it, I’m definitely not going to be able to in this state.”

“Right.”

Julian busied himself to fix Mile’s wrist. He pulled a t-shirt out of the wash for a cold damp compress, threw another two into the dryer for a quick dry, found electrical tape in Miles’ toolbox, and emptied a detergent box someone had left behind. The detergent fell out too quickly into his basket and launched up into a cloud, lightly covering his clothes and hair. He spent a solid minute hacking his lungs out. O’Brien tried to get up and help, but Julian put out a hand to stop him from getting up.

“Don’t mind me, just learning that soap isn’t a viable source of nutrition.”

Julian folded up the flimsy cardboard up appropriately, and dusted himself off. Now ready with the splint material he held out a hand to O’Brien.

“Can I see your wrist?”

“Gonna fix it?”

“I guarantee you that this is not going to be fun, but it doesn’t look too bad,” said Julian, rolling up the shirtsleeve and grasping the two sides of the break, applying gentle pressure to realign the bone. To O’Brien’s credit he tried to hold as still as he could through the process, preferring to destroy his teeth rather than bite Julian’s head off.

“Good of you to place a guarantee on your work,” O’Brien joked through gritted teeth.

The bone realigned, and O’Brien took a breath, sinking into the wall.

“It doesn’t get easier,” he said.

“Been there before?”

“Broke my leg in the war. It was worse, but it’s the anticipation that does it.”

As Julian started applying the splint the light flickered, and then went out. The hum of electricity in the building stopped, and the only light came through the small window high above the washers. The electric tape didn’t stick too well. Julian angrily fought with it to get it to keep the splint together, wrapping and re-wrapping to try and get it to the right tightness to keep the wrist from moving. Now that the cold was going to come in, he had O’Brien sit next to the recently used dryer for a bit of warmth.

“No one’s going to come down to the basement to do laundry in a black out.”

“Then I need to get someone to notice that we’re down here.”

Julian banged on the walls, the door, the ceiling, and even climbed up on the washers to try to flag someone on the street, but the street was empty and no one seemed to hear what should have been ruckus coming from the basement.

Another silence fell on them. Miles stared at the wall like he wanted to avoid any aspect of this. Julian was starting to shake from the anxiety of being in a room with someone who clearly didn’t want to be there. It was a feeling beyond being trapped. However, fire eventually burns out, and sometimes lighting the match and burning something down tasted both of sweet victory and disastrous impatience. Julian lit the match.

“Is there a reason you clearly dislike me?”

O’Brien’s expression was a mixture of being slapped, and drinking scalding hot coffee.

“I wouldn’t say I hate you.”

“I didn’t say that you hate me.”

“Uh, yes, well...” O’Brien tried to taste his words before saying them. None of them tasted well.

“Probably a lot of reasons, I’m guessing. I know I can talk too much, when I get started. Maybe it’s the people? I’ve had a lot of people... visit.” Julian had been thinking about this for a while now, ever since his water heater had broken. But in his mind his checklist of irregularities, flaws, and failings was covered in cross-out marks. Mentally attached were little footnotes, including things like ‘This is something my professors probably hate more,’ and, ‘Mr. O’Brien has never gone out drinking with me,’ and, ‘No one actually cares about that specifically, Julian.’

“Listen, Julian, I don’t hate you—”

Julian interrupted, “Garak.”

“What?”

“You don’t like Garak, and I’ve been—”

O’Brien quickly interrupted him, “Julian, that’s not really my business.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“No, most people don’t. He’s not trustworthy. Not only was that Cardie in the war, but who knows what he was involved in. But what does my opinion count? I’m an introverted curmudgeon who spends most of his time with a six-year old. What I don’t like about you, Julian, is that you have no backbone.”

Julian’s match had definitely burned something down, but he was awake and he was as animated as he could be without the ability to move his arm. The cold was starting to settle into the room, and outside the light was starting to dim. Julian had been dealt a blow, nowhere on his mental list was listed ‘I have no backbone.’ Julian hadn’t even thought of that and the accusation rang sour.

“Huh,” he said, softly. In his head the checklist became a list of one thing, over and over and over again. He knew very well that this is not something that should have landed so heavily, but... surprise: he had no backbone.

“Let’s fix the hot water heater. Walk me through this.”

“Julian...”

“The power’s off, I can fit my arms in, might as well get it done if we’re not getting rescued any time soon.”

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“What would be the point?”

“Proving me wrong?”

“And what would I get if I did so?” Miles sat silent while Julian continued, “Mr. O’Brien, I might let things bother me immensely compared to other people. I might be more vocal than some would like. But I’d like to think that I know what I’m doing, and part of that is not fighting every fight that’s placed in front of me. People I interact with regularly are important, and I’d prefer them to be friends. I’m not magnificently skilled at reading first impressions, and I definitely have a hard time not taking things people say at face value. I’m sorry if whatever interaction we had at our first meeting, or our second, or whenever gave you the impression that I’m a lost idiot with no capability of acting without direction.”

Miles smiled a small smile, with only one side of his mouth curling. “Proof enough. I had a feeling it would take some prodding to get you to do more than just standing around awkwardly. And you can call me Miles.”

“What?”

Miles didn’t answer that. “Can you see the panel on the lower end of the barrel? You’ll need to unscrew that panel. The element is probably out, like everywhere else.”

Julian managed at an odd angle to get the screwdriver tight enough against the screws to unscrew them, finding each one by clumsily feeling around the panel.

“Right, now, there should be something that feels like plug attached to tubes. It should be able to pull right out, that’s the element.”

Julian remembered what one looked like from the one that had been pulled out of his apartment’s hot water heater and found it easily. Once it was out of the hot water heater, and outside of the closet in the light he could clearly see that the tubes of the heating element were charred.

“Yeah, burned out,” said Julian.

“I put a replacement in the toolbox.”

The rest was easy. Julian replaced the element, and with only a bit of difficulty, and the loss of one of the screws, he managed to reattach the panel. Once done, he closed the closet door. Outside the sun was starting to set, and their small window was failing to continue providing light.

“Do you still play Command and Conquer?”

“What?” said Julian.

“I saw that you had an old CD copy of Red Alert on your desk.”

“Oh... sometimes, when I need to waste time. I played all of the campaigns for the newer games. I don’t have anyone to play with otherwise.”

“We should run a skirmish at some point.”

“Really?”

“Well, neither Molly or Keiko are gonna join me any time soon.”

“Alright, deal. If we can get out of here before freezing.”

The cold was really setting in. Miles was already not doing well due to his wrist, and Julian, for as much as he wished he was able to stand low temperatures in his usual t-shirt and spring hoodie, was trying not to imagine what he would look like frozen. As they talked he could see their breath hanging softly in the air. Julian sat down next to Miles, both in a silent agreement that a little more body warmth never hurt.

Just as they had started talking about what other RTS games they had played a sound came through the wall. Someone was walking down the stairs. Finally.

Julian rushed to bang on the walls again, calling out for help. The footsteps stopped for a moment, the person listening, and then became hurried as they ran down towards the door to the laundry room.

“Julian?” came a concerned and familiar voice from the other side.

“Garak?” Julian spoke quickly from the cold, his jaw chattering as he tried to hold back his shivering. “Garak, can you open the door? It’s swollen shut, we can’t get out, we’re freezing and Miles’ wrist is broken.”

“Stand back from the door.”

Julian stepped back, and Miles: tired, cold and in pain, not being able to move too much leaned away and scooted as far as he could from the door.

“We’re out of the way.”

As soon as he said that, the door snapped open. The side of it, especially the top corner where the swollen wood had been holding it closed, was splintered. The metal hardware that had been on the frame had been thrown clean into the closet doorway, as if the universe had assumed the necessity of payback to the closet itself.

“Great, now I have to replace two doors down here,” said Miles, although Julian could swear that there was a hint of gratitude hidden somewhere in that statement.

“No need to thank me, I know you’ve been wanting to do some renovations,” replied Garak.

“Garak can you call Keiko?” asked Julian. “We need to get Miles to the hospital.”

“O’Brien, do you know your wife’s phone number?”

“No.”

“Then I will not be calling her.”

“How do you not know Keiko’s number?” asked Julian, exasperated.

“Look, it’s in my phone, my phone is dead, and my _wrist is broken_! She’s probably upstairs. Let's just go get her.”

They walked Miles to his wife, who immediately rushed to grab her car keys and get Miles to the hospital, thanking them both. She promised that she’d message them with updates as soon as everything was taken care of. Julian and Garak stayed in the apartment until Jake showed up to keep an eye on Molly. As they left, Garak placed his hand on Julian’s shoulder.

“How about some tea and dinner? You look like you could use something warm.”

“Can I also borrow another pair of socks?”

Garak looked down at Julian’s feet.

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

\---

Garak’s apartment was clean, orderly, and distinctly lived in. It took a moment for Julian to get his bearings and pinpoint the culture shock.

Not one piece of furniture looked like it had been bought from a big box store and put together while wearing sweatpants and poring over a manual. He was unsurprised that while the furniture didn’t match, it flowed together, as if each piece had been painstakingly found and placed. Julian was presented with a distinct feeling that he wouldn’t find boxes or plastic tubs waiting to be filled tucked into a closet or under the bed. It felt like waking up and realizing that he hadn’t charged his phone, and it was 10:47 in the morning and not 7:00 like he had planned to wake up at, but on a Saturday, so all he was left with was a feeling of misplaced hours.

Garak directed him to sit down on the couch, which had a throw draped across the back of it. It was courteously taken and wrapped around Julian.

“There, that should keep you warm while I finish dinner.”

Garak could keep him warm to; sit there on the couch with him. Julian quickly tamped down on that thought as Garak went into the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it, I wouldn’t want you freezing in the laundry room only to return to... hot pockets, probably, in your own apartment.”

“Ah,” said Julian, thinking about his earlier plan of shoving yet another family sized lasagna into the oven and setting thirteen alarms in the hope to not burn it again. “What’s for dinner?”

“Stew. Should be good for warming you up. You have no objections to paprika I hope?”

In the kitchen, Garak pulled a tub of the stew from his fridge and poured it into a pot to reheat. He also put on a kettle to boil.

Julian admitted, if only to himself, that it was odd seeing Garak without a coat. The man seemed to always be dressed in proper layers, always a jacket, or a sweater, or a coat. In fact, he noticed that it seemed pretty warm in the apartment as it was. The remaining cold was seeping out of his body, but the flush that he felt remaining had little to do with that and more to do with the rolled up sleeves that Garak was now sporting as he cut up vegetables.

“Salad too?”

“I can’t imagine that you get too many vegetables in your diet.” Julian paused a moment wondering if he should mention tomatoes. The kettle started shrieking, and Garak filled an empty teabag with loose tea from a cupboard, stopping his ministrations in the kitchen to bring Julian his cup and to tell him, “Pasta sauce doesn’t count.”

“Then we’ll tally it at nil.”

“I thought as much.”

“How long were you trapped in there?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours maybe? I washed a load of laundry before the power went out.”

“The power’s been out since near noon.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost 8.”

The feeling of lost hours returned with more unease. It was no wonder that Miles had been doing so badly near the end. With the knowledge of the lost hours came a forgotten hunger that he had pushed down in the stress of his entrapment. The smell of the stew floated through the apartment, serene and homey. It smelled like it should have always been there, welcoming. Garak put a saucepan down on the stove and dropped a bag of orzo into it with oil. After it roasted a bit he poured the remaining boiled water on it.

“Almost 8,” Julian muttered to himself. “How fortunate I didn’t have much planned for the day.”

“I can only imagine those plans didn’t include spending almost nine hours with Miles O’Brien?”

“He wasn’t too bad.”

“Even with a broken wrist?”

“I know you two don’t get along, but I was probably the more obnoxious of us.”

Garak laughed, taking a moment to pull two bowls out of his cupboard, and filled them with salad, drizzling them with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and to Julian’s surprise, a little maple syrup. He then took another two plates, on which he placed scoops of the orzo and stew, still steaming from the pot. He grabbed the cutlery and carried the plates like a practiced waiter, a plate and a bowl in each arm.

“Color me unsurprised,” he said. “ I have no quarrel with Mr. O’Brien, I pay him my rent every month, and he likes to keep himself tied down with his minor prejudices from the war.”

He handed Julian his bowl and a fork and placed his plate of food down on the coffee table before settling himself in the armchair angled towards the couch. Julian unraveled himself from the blanket he had wrapped tighter around himself and started on the salad. The maple syrup was much less stated than he had expected it to be, but lent a sort of sweet aftertaste to the salad. The dinner itself was delicious, warm and filling. The meat almost fell apart on his fork and melted in his mouth. He scarfed the food down quickly.

“Hopefully next time I’m not so hungry that I can remember to taste my food. Or at least savor it.”

Garak smiled. “While we’re planning next times, when did you want to go to the museum?”

“I finished finals this week, so now I have a full three weeks of free time.”

“This coming Tuesday?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“The benefits of being your own boss.”

“Business that good, or do you have some extortion money hiding around here somewhere?”

Garak gave a little laugh, “I thought my ears had been burning, who’s been talking about me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you that information.”

“I have ways to find out.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

Now full with food and toasty warm, Julian yawned and his eyelids started to droop. Garak put down his plate and stood up to walk into his room. He returned with a pillow and propped it on the arm of the couch.

“You can sleep here if you like.”

Julian began to debate whether he really had the energy to return to his own apartment when it was comfortable and warm here in Garak’s.

Garak gathered up the plates and gave them a quick rinse in the sink. He turned around to find Julian wrapped tightly around the pillow, slowly drifting off. He found the latest book that Julian had lent him on his desk and settled into the armchair to read for the evening.

Two hours passed before he closed _Bluebeard_ , placing it on the table, and pulled the throw higher up on the sleeping Julian, taking the time to move a stray lock of hair from his forehead and brush stray detergent out of the strands. Then he silently slipped into his own room to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of applying to grad school and working on two audio dramas, so while I will still write, and get things out as regularly as I can it may take a little while. I am really excited about the next chapter it's going to be a train wreck.


	5. Chapter 5

In one corner of the room, an artificially aged red clock ticked a countdown. The ticking was soft, but for Julian and Jadzia it echoed through the small cluttered room, each little tick feeling like tapping on the back of their heads. Jadzia was holding a small scroll of paper that they had managed to find hidden in the back of the old chest that was nestled in the corner of the room. She was grinning, the kind of grin that made Julian uneasy. They had spent all too much time trying to break the code on the top of the chest, only to realize that they turning the knob in the opposite order that they had needed to. Until then they had kept good time, but now with the delay, and the grin, Julian couldn’t help but want to scramble out of the room through the air vents if possible. Jadzia was going to hold that scroll hostage and drain every last piece of information that she wanted out of him. What that information was, Julian didn’t dare to ask, but he’d learned Jadzia’s grins well enough.

“Wanna bet that I’ll open the door first?” said Jadzia, effortlessly perched among the junk that peppered the room. The door that they needed to get to was free from its prison, they’d unlocked and moved all three suitcases that were in the way. They were now stacked neatly on top of another three that had sat next to the door. Whoever had designed this room, thought Julian, ought to be crushed with an avalanche of suitcases. The room was full of knickknacks, tchotchkes, and kitsch. Boxes and suitcases lined the walls and flowed out into the center of the room. Magazines piles across tables. It took them at least 15 minutes of the hour they had to solve this room to just come to the realization that the designer had actually taken pity on them and marked relevant items with a stamp. It had taken Julian another 5 minutes of trying to solve a puzzle about trams in Madrid to realize that not all the puzzles stamped led to releasing the door that was trapped by suitcases. 

He looked over at the clock. Twenty minutes.

“What’s on the paper?” he asked, nervously trying to circumnavigate Jadzia’s play.

“Can’t distract me that easily. So, wanna bet?”

“You’re not going to tell me till I do, aren’t you?”

“Hit the nail on the head.”

“What are you going to pry from me when you win?”

“What makes you think I’m going to win?”

“Jadzia.” 

“Julian-,” Jadzia echoed, elongating his name in faux frustration, clearly enjoying herself instead.

He leaned on an old side table that was jammed in between a pile of moving boxes and an old armchair. The clock in the corner continued it’s ticking, specifically to irk him. He found his hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll take the bet, if you tell me what you’ll win.”

“I’m disappointed in you,” Jadzia huffed, “that’s not how the game works.” She looked down at the scroll, and back in his direction. But not exactly in his direction, not focused on him. A moment later they did flicker back to him, and the grin on her face hadn’t faded. He fought the grin that was starting to eke onto his own.

“Alright? What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want to win?”

“Well, clearly something with the same value as what you would win... if you do.”

“Lunch.”

“No”

“What then?”

Julian thought for a moment, and then carefully said, “I get to ask you a question that you have to answer truthfully sometime in the future. I’ll let you know when.”

“Fine, I’m going to win anyway.”

“You want to bet?”

As soon as Jadzia jumped off of her perch Julian turned around and grabbed the little statue of a sheep that was sitting on a stack of books behind him. The books he was certain she had glanced at. And sure enough, underneath the belly of the sheep was a little switch, which he toggled. The mechanism inside the door unlocked and popped open. From the other side of the door they were greeted by the eager face of the escape room assistant, who was standing by and ready with a camera to take victory photos. 

“You little cheat,” muttered Jadzia as they made their way out of the room.

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself at night to sleep better, blackmailer.”

“I was going to let us out in time.”

“Of course, but you were enjoying watching me squirm under the blinding lamp, right?” Julian dramatically replied.

“You are such a spoilsport.”

The photographs were going phenomenally, in that they would be a marvelous piece at an art gallery. Julian tried not to listen to the assistant snickering to herself as she took them. Somewhere in her desk she would have a collection of photographs featuring two people bickering instead of happily holding up a sign saying ‘We unlocked the Hoarder’s Room’ He wasn’t looking at the camera at all during the photos, and Jadzia jovially continued to prod and argue with him while making idiotic faces for the photographs. It really wasn’t of consequence, this was his fourth time taking this type of photograph, although he would admit that the rooms were much more fun with a partner.

“Alright, what would you have gotten if you won?” he asked.

“Oh,” cried Jadzia, looking at him reproachfully, “I’m not taking a concession prize.”

“What if we said we both won? You did give me the solution after all.”

“What? How?”

“Jadzia, you stared directly at the stack of books behind me.”

Jadzia’s face bunched up in defeat. “Damn my eyes, what a betrayal.”

“An absolute crime. So, truce?”

“Fine. I will accept that compromise.”

“How gracious. Anyway, what did you want?”

Jadzia became lost in thought as they made their way out of the building, now holding little complimentary buttons that would probably end up somewhere beneath a desk, where all buttons go to languish.

“You don’t even know?” asked Julian after a prolonged wait.

“I know.” replied Jadzia, “Don’t rush me, I have to figure out how to work this correctly.”

“Take your time.”

There was plenty of time. They were heading towards work, both having the same shift. Julian attempted to slough off the feeling that Jadzia was yet again going to trap and assault him in the office. He fervently wished to have a future at Deep Dish Nine free from such antics, but somewhere inside he knew that there was a ticking clock counting down. It wasn’t until halfway through their shift, when the lull of after late lunch and just before dinner hit that Jadzia pilled him into the office. Thankfully this time he did not make intimate acquaintance with the sharp metal corner of Kira’s drawers.

“So you got trapped in the basement with Miles.”

“Yes?” Julian could see where this was going and resigned himself to his fate. This office was now a dating life confessional booth.

“Garak saved you.”

“Yes?”

“What now?”

“Is this the thing?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Julian just tell me.”

“You needed three hours to come up with this?”

“Quit being a conceited ass, and just tell me.”

“Can I ask you a question? Not the question, so you don’t need to answer it. And I’ll answer your question afterward?”

“Fine.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because...” Jadzia took a deep breath. “Because it’s interesting.”

“You mean you’re living vicariously through my dating life.”

“Maybe.” Jadzia looked a little put-off, her arms crossed across her chest. “Can we not grill me?”

“I’m not grilling, I just... You go on dates constantly.”

“Yeah, but... I don’t really know how to explain it, alright. It’s just not the same.”

There was a brief quiet moment, where Julian tried to parse what Jadzia had just said. 

“Alright,” he relented, Jadzia clearly looked like it was a topic she didn’t want to touch upon further. “We’re going to the art museum tomorrow.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“What?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, really. I enjoy spending time with him, he clearly enjoys it too, he’s wonderful to talk to and listen to, he’s attractive, but there’s this barrier. I’m not sure what it is.”

Jadzia’s face fell a little.

Julian grinned mischievously in response. “I don’t think it’s an impasse, just a challenge.”

Jadzia gave him a little smile in response and punched him gently on the shoulder. “Keep me updated on what happens.”

“I will. It’s nice to have someone to talk to as it is, you were right.”

“Thanks.”

When Deep Dish Nine’s evening crowd started to filter in they both went to their respective stations and even with the rumble of the crowd as person talked to person through the night, Julian and Jadzia were left to their quiet thoughts.

\---

Quark’s was far emptier on Monday nights, unassisted by a flood of fliers offering cheap food and drinks. A few people were dancing about of the floor, and a couple more huddled at tables, and at the bar. But around the little pools of people were empty chairs and empty space, enough that the music was turned down lower. Jadzia was certain that each and every one of the people here tonight either had no job or hated themselves enough to be drinking on a Monday night. She had decided that she was absolutely not in either of those two groups. Her current loathing was not because of herself, rather in spite of herself. Her life, she had resolved, was rather like her consistently trying to play darts with fish instead of darts. It was going nowhere fast and getting very noisome. So at the moment, she sat in front of the bar, Quark preoccupied and wished that she could enter a meditative state by counting bottles like sheep.

It was Kira who woke her from her glassy reverie, knocking her already an empty bottle of Guinness with another one. Jadzia kept her gaze to the top shelf and said in a voice that sounded all too far away, “I’ve never seen that vodka up there.”

Kira placed her hand on Jadzia’s arm, “And for that Quark is making a fortune.”

“Is he really?”

“Well, the overhead on that bottle is next to nothing. I saw it at Dorne’s, bottom shelf, ten dollars.”

“That sounds about right.” Jadzia looked down at the bottle that was next to her empty one, “You didn’t have to buy me a drink you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Thanks.”

Kira nudged her in a friendly way and took the stool next to her. “It looks like that kind of day. Felt like you could use one.” Kira smiled before taking a drink from her own bottle. And perhaps, she thought, it would be a good thing, instead of moping about and counting bottles on Quark’s shelves to talk to a person.

“You and Julian were very quiet tonight.” continued Kira, her concern only evident in a twitching brow she was clearly trying to keep in place. “Did both of you lose a bet?”

Jadzia gave a little laugh to that one, “We both won actually. But I think we're both just stuck in our heads.”

“Both of you? What the hell kind of bet did you guys have?”

“I guess it was just that kind of day.”

“So...” Kira hesitated to ask, but managed to push past her reticence, “ what’s biting you?”

“I was thinking about relationships,” said Jadzia quietly, into her drink, as she started to yet again count the bottles.

Kira seemed to almost slip, trying to catch the right words to say as they flew past in her mind. Jadzia tried not to acknowledge the pause. She could probably tell Kira, probably. There was something that she couldn’t put her finger on about Kira, but it did have a somewhat serene feel. Which seemed completely out of place for her friend.

“What about Julian?” asked Kira, instead of touching on Jadzia’s dilemma.

“Same thing, I think.”

“Garak?”

Jadzia cradled her cheek in her hand letting her head loll, and took another drink, gazing through her old bottle at the bottles on the wall. “Totally not my place to tell is it?”

Kira grinned, “No, not really.”

Jadzia couldn’t help but echo that grin, although the conflict still sounded in her voice, “Everyone’s been getting on Julian about this. Isn’t it his decision to make? He’s not as naive as he looks.”

“No, he’s not, he’s just an oddball.”

“You’re not worried anymore?”

“Still worried, but I’m more worried about Mr. Tailor than I am about Goofball Student Boy.”

“They’re going to the art museum tomorrow.”

“Okay, that is a thing then,” said Kira, visibly trying to hold back her tone, and her meddlesome nature, leaving a bizarre monotone.

“Well, that’s what Julian told me. If they’re going to a shooting range instead I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“Ah, yes,” said Kira conspiratorially. “The classic second date at the shooting range. I hear it’s important to test possible future partners on their accuracy early.

Jadzia covered her mouth as she started laughing mid-drink. Between her coughing and attempting to scramble for napkins, she glared at Kira. “That fucking burns, I hate getting alcohol up my nose.”

“How often does that happen?” asked Kira, her eyes shining with mischief as she grinned at Jadzia.

Jadzia lightly pushed Kira’s shoulders, “Far too often when I’m here with you, I should have learned by now to run far far away when you show up.”

The sat there for a moment, Jadzia finishing wiping up the mess she’s made, and Kira fiddling with her own bottle of ‘microbrewery swill’.

Jadzia, who had finally stopped sniffing from the alcohol that had cleared out her nasal passages, was finally capable of continuing the conversation. “This isn’t really their second date, though.” 

“No?”

“Not really. I mean their first date wasn’t even a first date was it? They meet at least twice a week to talk about books, even if Julian insists it’s once a week. Sometimes Garak stops by just to talk to him at work. They had that date that you followed them on, but there was also Julian sleeping on Garak’s couch after he got trapped in the laundry room last week. I mean they’ve been on this for,” She thought for a moment, “...months, I think.”

“He slept in Garak’s apartment?” asked Kira, quiet and astounded.

“Oh, come on Kira, he slept on a couch cuddling a pillow. Honestly, it’s absurdly chaste following Julian’s string of ‘visitors’.” 

“Maybe that’s why it’s bothering me.” Kira paused for a moment hearing an earlier part of the conversation again, “And who told you I followed them on their date?”

“Quark. He told half the bar.”

“No one here knows how to keep their mouths shut, do they?”

Jadzia chose not to answer that, leaving the answer clinging obviously in the air around them. Instead, she bored her gaze into the same bottle on the top shelf, the one that wasn’t supposed to be there, and welcomed impulsivity as it took her over. Next to her, Kira was tearing at the label on her bottle, staring down its throat. Kira’s quick reflexes only narrowly managed to pull her hand aside as Jadzia’s shoe alighted on the bar top. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispered as Jadzia vaulted the counter.

“I think we deserve some top shelf while we wallow, don’t you think?” said Jadzia, turning, holding the bottle in her hand. She pulled two shot glasses and poured over them, handing one over to Kira. “To idiots who make weird life decisions.”

Kira nodded before tapping her shot glass against Jadzia’s. She looked around to see if anyone had seen, but Jadzia pulled her back.

“Drink!” she commanded.

Kira downed the vodka, and as if coming to her own addled decision asked, “How about we go to the art museum tomorrow?”

“That’s a horrible idea.”

Kira looked to take a moment to rethink her decision, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“It’s gonna be a riot.”

\---

On the other side of the bar, where the curve hid them well enough as the two inebriated conspirators talked were Quark and Odo. Quark had just been going over the books next to the register, taking a look to see what a misery this evening was when Odo took a seat across from him and stared at him expectantly.

“What can I get you tonight, Constable?” said Quark, cringing just a little. If Odo had seen, he kept quiet. Odo never visited without some sort of ulterior motive. Quark would have preferred to say that Odo did not often visit without an ulterior motive, but it was never. He couldn’t remember any time that Odo had just visited to say hello to his local bartender. He snapped the book closed and turned his attention to the glassware on the bar, trying to steady his hands. 

“How are you doing tonight, Quark?” asked the constable, his face sporting the same smirk he always had around Quark. The man took pleasure in making him feel absolutely trapped, didn’t he.

“Definitely not trying to find something to do with a crate of Risian wine,” replied Quark, attempting to plaster an equally riddling smirk on his own face. 

“That’s not illegal; Quark.”

“Why would it have been illegal?”

“Should I ask again?”

Quark put down the glass that he was cleaning. “You’re liable to send me to an early grave.”

“That would be no one’s fault but your own.”

“Let me ask you then, why are you here?”

“It’s quiet out tonight, and I felt like visiting my favorite bartender,” Odo grinned. He was absolutely fully aware that it was the grin that made Quark’s skin crawl, of this Quark was convinced.

But in that moment Quark was distracted, by something he heard coming from the other end of the bar, where he’s left a rather sullen looking Jadzia to drink, later to be joined by a Kira who had pulled him from his ledger, to get a few bottles from him. He scooted to the edge of the curve of the bar to get a glimpse of them as they talked. Odo followed him, sliding across the bar stools almost effortlessly. Both listened intently as Kira and Jadzia spoke of Julian, and the museum. Odo raised an eyebrow at Quark when Jadzia vaulted the bar, but Quark shook his head, easily recognizing the bottle she’s grabbed. He’d get the money back in Tongo.

“I think,” He said, when the two had taken their third shots of vodka, and Jadzia was leaning on the bar talking about her dating life, with Kira listening intently, leaning into the bar top hanging on every word, “That this is a problem that we can solve.”

“No”

“Isn’t Kira your friend? Don’t you want her to be happy?” Quark wheedled.

“She needs to find out in her own time.”

“Odo, both those women are as thickheaded as a concrete wall. They’re spending an evening flirting, and do you think that they know it?”

“I don’t get myself involved.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“It’s because Kira is my friend that I won’t get involved in this,” said Odo with some finality.

Quark was about to say something in response but was interrupted by a request for a beer from another of his regulars. Ezri took a seat next to Odo, and after being handed an open Guinness by Quark, stated: “It’s because Jadzia is my sister that I’m completely and totally getting involved in this.”

Quark leaned in conspiratorially, after waggling his eyebrows at Odo in victory, “Do you have a plan?”

“Oh, absolutely. Who’s up for a family field trip to the art museum tomorrow?”

Odo looked at the two of them and sighed. “I don’t have much of a choice do I?”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly a first excursion into the world of fan fiction for me. I'd like to thank the originators of this ridiculous concept, who I believe were ladyyatexel and tinsnip. I started this as an experiment to get me to write more, and power through some hard stuff in my life. Hopefully writing this continues to be enjoyable. I hope to write more. But god I have no idea what I'm doing.


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